


still our hands match

by teacass (Fushigi)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Human Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reunions, deancas-sweetheart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 11:58:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9724778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fushigi/pseuds/teacass
Summary: Castiel suspects Dean has been hunting alone more often now that both Castiel and Sam have left the bunker, but he rarely allows himself to think about that. There’s nothing he can do about it now — Dean had said as much, right to his face, the bitter ‘yeah, it’s over’ still ringing in his ears even months after that night.





	

When Castiel parks the car in front of his house and looks over at the passenger seat, Dean is slumped against the window with his eyes closed and his breathing slow. 

“We’re here,” Castiel murmurs. He almost touches Dean’s arm to wake him but stops himself at the last moment. “Are you gonna be okay to walk?”

Dean lifts his head and gazes through the window, across the neatly-mowed lawn in front of the small light-coloured house, squinting his eyes in the dimness of the car. His hand rubs gently against his bandaged thigh.

“That your house?” he says finally, his voice more of a croak than anything else. “‘S pretty. Soccer-mom type, but pretty.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says. “I’m still renovating.”

Dean nods, eyes still turned towards the house. When Castiel jingles the keys and fidgets in the seat, Dean finally makes up his mind and opens the door to get out of the car.

Castiel is by his side in a few seconds.

“Let me help you.”

“I’m fine,” Dean says, the same old story, and Castiel lets his hands fall by his sides again. He watches as Dean limps to his front door, then opens it for him and waits until Dean has hobbled safely inside to close it and throw the keys into the jar by the mirror.

Their gazes meet in the reflection, but they both look away.

“Shit, I’m dirty,” Dean murmurs, looking down at himself. His jacket and jeans are covered in dust and splashed with blood, probably both his and the werewolves he had hunted.

“You can use my shower,” Castiel says and sends Dean a comforting half-smile when he looks up at him. “I don't mind.”

Dean scratches the back of his head. “Okay. Yeah. That'd be great, thanks.”

“Are you hungry?” Castiel asks as he leads Dean down the tiny corridor into his bedroom and inside the bathroom. He points to the shower and the cabinet with fresh towels as Dean mulls over his answer.

“I could eat,” he murmurs finally.

With no imminent danger hanging above Dean anymore, Castiel leaves him in the bathroom and rushes into the kitchen. Dean must be exhausted — after the lonely hunt, the fight that left him with a gash in his leg, and no other option but to call Castiel and ask for his help. Castiel doesn't mind — he could never mind — but Dean seems determined not to be a burden to him. Even when he called — tired and injured and scared — he sounded apologetic and hesitant.

As if Castiel could ever refuse him, even after everything.

Castiel finishes making the sandwiches and goes still for a moment, head empty of any thoughts. When Dean doesn't come out of the bathroom in the next few minutes, Castiel blinks himself back to the present and goes back to his bedroom to knock at the bathroom door.

“Yeah,” Dean rasps.

“Is everything okay?” Castiel asks hesitantly.

“Uh, yeah. I'm just… looking over my leg. No worries.”

“Do you need any help?” Castiel asks, ready to barge in at any moment. Seeing Dean hurt has never gotten any easier.

“No. No, I'm fine,” Dean says, voice small, but maybe it's because he's talking through the closed door.

Castiel nods, more to himself than to Dean, and then makes to leave the room again. He's stopped by Dean’s voice.

“Uh, actually… I'm gonna need some clothes, I think.”

“Of course,” Castiel says immediately, then darts towards the dresser to pull out a pair of sleep pants and a freshly washed t-shirt. He’s back at the bathroom door in time to see Dean pushing it open and peeking at him, the cloud of steam surrounding his head and escaping into the bedroom.

Castiel’s gaze lingers on Dean’s naked chest for a few long seconds, helpless against the sudden flood of the memories of touch and warmth.

“Uh. Thanks,” Dean mumbles, reaches out, and snatches the clothes out of Castiel’s hands, the door slamming behind him.

Castiel takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

When Dean emerges from the bathroom several minutes later, he’s dressed in Castiel’s clothes, limping, and with his hair flattened over his forehead. For a man who’s pushing forty, he looks heartbreakingly young and boyish and Castiel’s heart contracts for a split second. 

“Come on,” he says, standing up from where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. “I made you sandwiches.”

Dean flashes him a small, tired smile, and follows him to the kitchen. He sinks down to the chair with a pained moan and gazes up at Castiel.

“How do you feel?” Castiel asks. He can’t stop himself; his hand moves of its own volition and rests on Dean’s shoulder. He counts it as a win when Dean doesn’t move away.

“Fine,” Dean says quietly. “Just hungry.”

Castiel puts the plate with the sandwiches in front of him and is rewarded with another shy smile. Dean eats, slow but eager, and Castiel sits down beside him, unable to look away.

“Uhm,” Dean mutters with his mouth full. He lets out a small laugh. “I kinda forgot you were like that.”

“Like what?” Castiel asks and feels himself flush when Dean meets his eyes.

“All that staring,” Dean says.

“It hasn’t been that long,” Castiel comments.

Dean falls quiet, eyes lowered, his lips turned down at the corners. Castiel curses himself for even bringing that topic up.

“Do you... “ He clears his throat. “Do you want to talk about the hunt?” 

He can see Dean frowning at the plate. “Not really.”

Castiel suspects Dean has been hunting alone more often now that both Castiel and Sam have left the bunker, but he rarely allows himself to think about that. There’s nothing he can do about it now — Dean had said as much, right to his face, the bitter ‘yeah, _it’s over_ ’ still ringing in his ears even months after that night.

Dean pushes the empty plate away and grunts, distracting Castiel from his thoughts.

“I’m full,” he says and then he’s yawning, sudden and wide, eyes closing and head lolling backwards. “Shit, I feel like I haven’t slept for ages…”

“Knowing you, you probably haven’t,” Castiel murmurs. He stands up and curls his hand around Dean’s arm. Dean goes willingly, eyes boring into Castiel’s face again, blurry and curious.

“You know me too well,” he rasps softly and lets himself be led back to the bedroom.

Castiel’s heart beats painfully against his chest as he helps Dean hobble into the bed and ignores his protests about taking Castiel’s bed. Dean stares up at him from between the bundle of pillows and covers, looking young and vulnerable and sweet, eyes big, hair damp, face flushed. Castiel notices his hands are still gripping Dean’s arms and he squeezes him gently.

“Get some rest,” he whispers.

Dean smiles softly at him and lets his eyes flutter closed. “Thanks, Cas.”

Something punches all the air out of Castiel’s chest. Hearing his gasp, Dean’s eyes open and stare up at him, and when Castiel meets his gaze, he notices the same worry and emotion he’s been experiencing since he answered Dean’s call a few hours ago.

He leans down, fingers clasped over Dean’s arms, and drops a barely-there kiss on Dean’s forehead.

He tries to relive the moment, to carve it into his brain and never forget — Dean saying his name like that again, after all those months of silence, Dean looking at him and smiling at him and lying in his bed and just being here, near and warm and safe from harm. Castiel hasn’t heard Dean say his name for so long — last time it was just ‘Castiel’, as if they barely knew each other, as if all those years meant nothing to either of them, and all because both of them were too stubborn to let go, to compromise — Castiel was tired and Dean was tired too and they kept fighting and —

He only realises he’s crying when he feels Dean’s hands on his face and in his hair, his soft voice shushing him, his warm cheek pressed against Castiel’s. Castiel is still half-bent over the bed, fingers curled into the pillow as he sobs soundlessly into Dean’s neck, too weak to fight it now that they’re so close again.

“I’m so sorry, Cas,” Dean whispers feverishly, and then he’s pulling Castiel onto the bed, arms around Castiel’s shoulders as he tucks him neatly against his side. “Shhhh. Please, please don’t cry, sweetheart, it’s okay, I swear it’s gonna be okay…”

Castiel breathes heavily into Dean’s neck, feeling his body tremble minutely against Dean’s warmth. His fingers catch Dean’s t-shirt and pull him closer.

“Oh, Cas,” Dean murmurs into his ear. He hugs him tighter and Castiel feels his world shrink into the space between their bodies and the sound of their breaths. “What are we doing?”

Castiel doesn’t trust his ability to speak, so he just shakes his head and huddles closer.

Dean lets out a heavy breath and his fingers brush Castiel’s face, feather-light and gentle. 

“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, “so much.”

Castiel lifts his face far enough to reach Dean’s lips. The kiss is shy, their lips barely touching, but it’s enough to set Castiel’s insides on fire, to dry his tears, to make his breathing easier again. He kisses Dean with a promise, an apology, with forgiveness, and his heart sings when he feels the same emotions on Dean’s lips, too.

“Dean,” Castiel whispers, mouth still close, eyes looking straight into Dean’s so that he can see Dean shiver at the sound of his own name, “please don’t make me leave.”

It doesn’t matter it’s Castiel’s house and they’re in Castiel’s bed and Dean is injured; Dean seems to get his meaning because he nods, closes his eyes, and rests his forehead against Castiel’s.

“I won’t,” he says. “I promise I won’t.”

They’ve still got a lot to talk about in the morning — they always do, it seems — but for now, they stay quiet and warm as the early dawn rises outside the windows.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy valentine's day (if you celebrate)! If not, have a great day/night anyway!  
> Written for [Dean/Cas Hey Sweetheart challenge](http://deancas-sweetheart.tumblr.com) which I'm having a pleasure to moderate with the greatest co-mod, Lauren. Thank you for everything <3  
> Title from "Still" by Daughter. Thank you for reading and please make sure to check all the other amazing entries on the challenge blog!


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